


Brown Eyes

by jackgyeoms



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: A 'Brian Adopts His Younger Sibling' Fic, Adoption, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Half-Siblings, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brian meets Taillte for the first time, she’s already eighteen months on. Already moving, already speaking, already so aware of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brown Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I'm a sucker for 'due to circumstances, Brian and Justin raise a kid' fics so I did this!
> 
> Beta'd by [Shep](http://nohrianblood.tumblr.com), and encouraged to life by [Emy](http://xoxoemynn.tumblr.com/) and [Deja](http://kinneyb.tumblr.com)

 

_ 18 months. _

When Brian meets Taillte for the first time, she’s already eighteen months on. Already moving, already speaking, already so aware of the world.

His dad had needed money like he always did, and Brian had expected a quick drop off completed with a tight smile and lies. Just more lies. He gets bustled inside and there she is, sitting on the floor surrounded by soft teddy bears and toys that specialise in just making a noise.

Her mother’s name is Erica, and she’s so pleased to see him. “Your father has told me so much about you,” she tells him, “I can’t believe it’s taken until now to meet you.”

Brian has enough manners to know not to say what he’s thinking, and instead smiles and pretends that he knew all along.

“Tye, Tye, this is Brian. This is your brother Brian,” Erica coos, and somewhere over his shoulder he can hear Jack mutter, “ _ Taillte _ ,” followed by the hiss of a beer can being opened.

She looks like her mother – same dark skin, same pouting lips, same nose. But her eyes, those are all Kinney. He sees them every time he looks in the mirror, sees them every time he looks to his father.  _ Guess she must be his then _ , he muses.

“Hi there,” he greets quietly, and Tye offers him a gummy smile. That is Kinney too.

“Want to hold her?” Erica wonders, but doesn’t wait for an answer before the child is placed in Brian’s arms. Tye puts her hands on his chest, presses to put him at a distance, and Brian has never felt so scrutinised by a fucking baby before.

“Not to your liking?” he asks her, and raises his eyebrow.

She mimics him.

Erica laughs and go on about how she knew that look. She teases Jack, who offers a smile, but says nothing else.

-

“You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier,” he hisses, keeps his voice low. Beyond the kitchen, he can see Erica swaying with Taillte, mumbling something into her hair. He doesn’t want to draw attention, and it feels cruel to break that domesticity.

Jack arches an eyebrow at him. “Does it matter?”

The laugh that leaves him is bitter, rough against his own ears. “Right. Of course. Doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be such a priss,” he is told. Brian locks his jaw, and straightens his shoulders. An unopened beer is pushed into his hand and his dad shoulders past him.

Brian doesn’t have to look to know where he’s going. His chair, in front of the television, beer in hand. It’s familiar.

He wonders if Erica knows, if she’s experienced – but she doesn’t act like she does, smiles brightly at him and says that she wants to know all about him. She tries to get her to say his name, sweet in how she encourages her child. Tye babbles but doesn’t form any real words, and Erica assures him that next time, next time she’ll say it don’t you worry.

Brian leaves when Jack shouts for them to keep the noise down, and Erica goes quiet, still. He thinks, she knows too.

-

He doesn’t go home straight away. He can’t. That house is a living memory, a fucking nightmare that Brian left behind long ago. He can hear echoes in his mind, and the loft is too quiet to silence it. At Woody’s, he drinks until the words are slurs and the noises muffled, and he can convince himself that, once more, he’s not made by his past.

 

* * *

_ Two years. _

“You want to go to Woody's before Babylon?” Mikey wonders over breakfast. The diner is busy, chaotic like it always is. Not that Brian really understands why – the food is average, the cleanliness leaves a lot to be desired, and even the studs weren’t worth it. Well, Brian corrects himself, lingering on the ass that past his line of vision, not entirely.

Mikey draws his attention back by repeating his name, and Brian returns his gaze to his friend.

He shakes his head and stabs his fork into his omelette. “No. I can’t. I have something to do.”

“What?”

Brian chews and mulls over whether or not he wants to share. There’s no reason not to, he thinks. When it comes to his family, the Novotny’s know more than their fair share. He swallows, and says, “I’m visiting my dad. And my sister.”

“I didn’t think you’d ever willing speak to your sister. Or your dad,” Michael muses, eyebrows pulling together over the bridge of his nose.

“Not Claire.”

“Not Claire?” It takes a second. “Your dad has another kid.”

Brian nods his head. “Taillte. Tye. She’s two today.”

“Fuck.” Michael comments, and that feels like a fucking understatement. A pause, and Michael continues, “Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Brian snaps. Breathes out through his nose. “I just said I’d visit. I’ll be at Babylon afterwards.”

When he leaves, Mikey tells him to wish happy birthday to his sister for him, and Brian finds his lips twisting upwards despite himself.

-

He doesn’t remember many birthdays before the Novotny’s. Of course, his mother would hold parties in his honour, like any good mother would, but they were still. Quiet. For her, not him. He doesn’t remember presents that didn’t end up being broken when they were chucked at him in drunken rage, or ripped apart because  _ you’re too old for toys. _

When he turned fourteen, he hadn’t even told Mikey. His teacher had done the honours, smiling pleasantly and offering “happy birthday” to him before class. He told Michael that he didn’t care about birthdays, but that didn’t stop his Friday night being spent amongst the warmth of the Novonty family. Vic had baked him a cake, the same one he baked every year for him until now. Debbie bitched at him for not letting anyone know and made him eat two helpings of her specialty lasagne. Mikey gives him one of his favourite comic books as a present, and Brian told himself that he wasn’t crying,  _ Debbie’s hug was just too tight. _

He’d kept that comic pressed between school books because that was the only place that neither Jack or Joan could find it. (It’s in the bottom draw of his computer desk now, and he doesn’t dare touch it).

Erica had prepared a makeshift steak meal – Jack’s favourite – with a store bought cake for dessert. Tye mostly just ate the icing, and smeared cream on her face. Erica took so many pictures, kept cooing to get her to look up, and she’d look up and dislodge the party hat that had been placed upon her head. Dad laughs and drinks.

Erica helped her open her presents from her parents – colouring books and crayons, a lego set.

“This one’s from Brian,” she tells Tye, who looks him in the eye to say, “Bri. Bri.”

Brian swallows around the lump in his throat, strains a smile and blows a raspberry on her cheek to make her giggle. He doesn’t care that he gets messy in return.

He brought her read-and-touch books upon the request of her mother, and at the table, Tye rubs her hands across the carpet, foil, wool.

Brian leaves at bath time. He murmurs a happy birthday into Tye’s forehead, and smiles encouragingly when she recites his name to him. Erica looks immensely proud at her daughter’s achievements. He begins to wonder if his parents, either of them, ever looked at him like that, but he shuts the thought down quickly. There’s no point. The past is past.

Erica encourages him to visit more often and his father doesn’t stop her. Brian can’t promise that he will, but he offers her  _ eventually _ – he doesn’t want to disappoint her, not when she looked so happy at him. 

Each step he takes off his father’s property has his heart beating into his throat, and it just reminds him why he stays away.

-

He drinks, dances and fucks until the beating is just of the drums.

 

* * *

_ Three years, four months. _

He comes to the door and Erica won’t open it fully. She puts her body in the space, hides half her face, and Brian knows.

“Where’s Tye?” Brian asks immediately. He remembers hiding under his bed. He remembers yellowed bruises and scrapes. He remembers Tye, covered in icing, and saying his name. Bri. Bri. Bri.

“She’s asleep. She’s fine,” Erica is quick to assure, and the smile she offers is strained.

“You’re not,” he states.

Erica’s smile trembles. “I am. I’m fine.” She sounds convincing, but Brian knows, he  _ knows _ . “You’re sweet to worry about me Brian, but I promise you, I’m okay. Just tired, that’s all.”

Tired. He wants to laugh and scoff, and push down that door and confront his father for what he dare do. He doesn’t though. He just agrees, and walks away.

-

He doesn’t sleep that night. He sits on his window sill, watches the lights flicker on and off, watches the cars that pass dwindle, and he cannot bring himself to feel.

-

Brian goes to the house straight from work, and there’s a stillness that is all too recognisable. Erica tries to hide her wound with makeup, but Brian knows the raised skin, the bumps and tenderness that no layer of concealer could hide. His eyes are drawn it to every time he looks at her, so he just stops.

“Bri,” Tye says, and grips his trouser leg.

“How was nursery?” he asks.

“Didn’t go today. Mama wanted to stay home,” Tye informs him, “I drawed you a picture.”

Brightly coloured scribbles that Tye identifies as a lion – it’s her favourite animal now – is presented to him, and Brian holds it carefully. She hasn’t drawn a picture for him before. It’s a strange feeling that has his heart thudding.

He thanks her quietly, pushes her hair back and kisses her forehead. Tye smiles at him.

Brian stares at her for a long while - he can only see her cheeks tear-stained, and her eyes fearful.

“You should leave. I can give you money for a hotel,” Brian offers quietly. They’re in the kitchen, because Jack came back. He hasn’t spoken to them, hasn’t acknowledge anyone’s presence more than to kick Tye’s toys out of the way before he sits down. Erica put her to bed and Tye went quietly. It angers Brian to think this is something that his sister is used to.

Erica’s eyes flicker to over Brian’s shoulder, to the room beyond, and then back again. She shakes her head. “No. No, I – I can handle it.”

“For fuck sake, Erica,” Brian hisses.

Her eyes flash. “Don’t fucking swear at me, Brian Kinney,” she snaps. She stops, closes her eyes briefly. “I know you’re only trying to help. I appreciate it. I do. But I can look after myself.”

“And what about Tye? Can you look after her?”

“Jack hasn’t touched Taillte. I won’t let him,” she promises.

His father shouts for another beer, and Erica ducks when she lowers herself to reach into the fridge, and Brian catches sight of the side of her face again. He believes her, he decides, but he knows at what expense.

-

Debbie has a go at him for not answering his phone, and Brian defends himself, “I was busy. Visiting family.”

She blinks at him and then smiles sadly. Her hand touches his cheek gently, and she asks, “Everything okay?”

She knows about Tye, he thinks, but he shouldn’t be too surprised. Mikey keeps very few things from his mother. Brian tells her everything is fine, and whilst she doesn’t believe him, she doesn’t push him on it.

“You’re a good kid,” she says, and then reminds him that dinner is on Sunday and he better turn up on time.

 

* * *

_ Three years, five months. _

Brian tries to get her to leave again, but it’s futile. She’s stubborn, she’s in love. She’s scared.

In a good mood, Jack will put his hands around Erica’s shoulders in a loving gesture and it makes Brian want to fucking scream. Love?  _ This _ is love? Falsities and smiles that distracted from tight grips and buckling knees.

_ Love isn’t real. It can’t be. _ He reaffirms this belief with every fuck, with every trick’s name that he forgets, with every success he has that has nothing to do with anyone else in his life.

His dad warns him about marriage and traps and the burdens of having a child that whines and cries and shits every day. These conversations usually end with him asking for money, and Brian handing over wads of money because even if the smallest amount of it goes to his sister, he will feel like it was worth it. (He doesn’t want to think about what Jack would have done if he’d refused. Jack doesn’t like to be refused).

-

The next time it happens, his smile is tight, and she’s watching him like she knows what he’s going to say, but he remains quiet on the subject.

“I’ll take her to nursery tomorrow,” Brian murmurs in the doorway just before he leaves for Babylon.

“Thank you,” Erica whispers.

The next day she helps him put the car seat into his jeep, and Brian’s lips twist at how jarring it feels. Tye kisses her mama goodbye at her request, and touches her injured cheek carefully before kissing that too.

“To make it better,” she explains simply. Brian has to tense every muscle in his body to stop him from lashing out and satisfy the anger within him. Erica looks so sad but still she smiles when she tells her daughter how sweet and kind she is, and how she wants her to have a fun at nursery.

“The offer still stands,” Brian tries, needs to just that one more time.

Erica’s lips pull upward. “You should go, or you’ll be late.”

 

* * *

_ Four years, two months. _

Lindsey begs and pleads and bargains, with Mel glowering behind her. Brian thinks about Tye’s smile and that awed look in her eyes when she looks up at him. He thinks of the drawings that she presents him with, thinks of the pride and pleasure when Erica tells her of some millstone that is passed.

He thinks of his father, and hisses to himself that he will  _ never be like that _ .

Brian agrees, goes through the motions and once that little jar has been taken away, he can only think  _ fuck _ .

-

He tells Erica when Lindsey presents him with the results that she is, officially, pregnant. Erica looks surprised, and for one terrifying moments he thinks she  _ knows _ and if she knows, then Jack –

And then smiles, touches his cheek and tells him that he’ll make a wonderful father.

“You’re so good with Tye,” Erica tells him, “She loves you.”

Brian’s voice is rough when he replies, “She’s a good kid.”

The door jangles notifying Jack’s return, and when Erica moves to slip past him towards the kitchen, he grabs her. It’s panic that makes him say, “Don’t tell him.”

_ It’s none of his fucking business _ , he thinks, repeats it to himself until the voice in his head stops stumbling over each letter.

-

Lindsey’s stomach grows, and she gives him a copy of the ultrasound at each stage. His son, she informs him at six months, and for the first time, Brian’s chest hurts at the sight of the black and white image.

He told himself when he was a kid, before he knew who he really was, that if he ever had a son, the boy would never be afraid. Would never cower, never hold himself close because no one else would. He used to dream about his nameless partner, some pretty woman who would hold him like he saw mothers on the streets hug their kids, and about going to his kid’s soccer games (no one ever came to his), and going out for dinner at Chuck E Cheese because though now Brian knows it to be a house of horrors, then it was the dream.

Years later, here he is, and soon he will have a son.  _ A son. _

His dad tells him children are weights that suck you dry with Tye playing at his feet. Brian’s eyes flicker to her and he wonders whether, at this age, she understands. He hopes not. He really does.

He doesn’t tell Jack he’s going to be a grandfather, because in that moment, Brian has never been more aware than he’s never really been a  _ father _ at all.

 

* * *

_ Five years. _

Brian takes home a twink. Justin. It’s not planned – he’d felt bored and anxious, like he could shake out of his own skin, and much to his own chagrin, he could do with spreading out across his own bed and forgetting the world for a while – but once their eyes lock, he cannot refuse himself this.

The kid is quick, he thinks, watches the way his lips form each letter. “Just checking out the bar…BoyToy, Meathook.”

“Meathook? So you’re into leather huh?”

“Sure.” His tongue slides over his lips and Brian’s made his choice. He moves closer, has the tips of their shoes nudging each other, and asks, “You going anywhere special?”

He can practically taste his answer, he’s so close, just as he knows the kid can taste him when he promises, “I can change that.”

Brian keeps his one hand on Justin’s thigh when he drives. It tenses up beneath him, and he rubs his thumb in circles against the denim until they tremble and relax.

He’s a virgin but won’t admit it. He stumbles over words, cracks jokes, and it’s quite frankly adorable. Brian listens even as he strips and smirks when Justin just stops speaking in favour of looking.

He’s naked and wet, hard as anything, and he needs to get his hands beneath those baggy clothes.

“Are you going? Or coming and then going? Or coming and staying?”

Justin’s kisses are sweet and the sounds he makes addictive. (He doesn’t realise how much that first time, but he would, eventually).

-

“Lindsey’s having the baby,” Mel tells him, voice tight with her irritation and worry for her partner, and Brian thinks  _ fuck _ .

Nine months is a lot shorter than it used to be.

Brian had spent a lot of time trying not to think about this, and succeed in moments when Lindsey wasn’t within eyesight, but a lack of object permanence doesn’t stop the object from being there. But it’s real. Really real. Surrounded by women, and in the arms of his mother, baby Kinney-Peterson-Marcus lays.

“Oh my god,” are the only words he can think of.

He wants to say more, doesn’t want to have to keep such a lid on his emotions when he feels so cracked open at the sight of his son. He doesn’t though because he knows he is being watched, and there are certain expectations that Brian is required to meet. He’s gentle when he holds his son, but he’s quick when he speaks, stunning wit with a barbed tongue that has Melanie scowling, Mikey rolling his eyes in fond exasperation and Justin smiling.

He has a nice smile, Brian notes, even there.

He brings Justin because he has to – he’s not heartless enough to kick the kid to the streets, especially not when he thinks of himself that age, and secrets he still keeps from his parents – but he asks for his opinion because he wants to.

“You wouldn’t survive a day at school with the name Abraham,” Justin offers, his voice quivering with this responsibility that has been put at his feet, “But I guess Gus is okay.”

With the eyes of his most hated and adored fans, Brian plays his part and forgets names, lets Michael inform him, and leaves the promise of sex in the air.

Justin’s smile had dropped but it grows when Brian looks at him. Yeah, a nice smile.

“Gus,” he announces, “A good butch name. Give your daddy a smile Gus.”

The only softness he will allow. He wonders whether Tye was ever as small as Gus is, and wonders whether Gus will ever be as big as Tye. Of course he would, even if it seems impossible now, and the delicate features will grow and become his own.  _ He looks like a Kinney already. _

Mikey takes a picture, and Brian remembers that he promised Erica a picture of his boy. She never claims Gus as her grandson, and Brian never tells her that he is, but he thinks they both know. On the rooftop, he asks Michael quietly for a copy, and takes a small pill of happiness that wipes mortality from his mind.

-

Brian should let Mikey take Justin back to his house. He should. He knows he should, but his too high to make these choices, too terrified about how his life has changed so fucking much in one night, and Justin is looking at him like he’s hung the moon.

Maybe it was the ego stroking. Maybe it was how much he liked the way this one man was staring at him. Maybe it was the fact he could still taste Justin when he licked his lips and he was desperate for more.

He takes Justin home.

 

* * *

_ Five years, four months. _

Justin spends more nights at the loft than he does at Debbie’s now, and it both irritates and pleases. Brian hates the mess, hates what’s not his, but there’s something nice about Justin’s sketchbooks opened and spread out on the breakfast island. He hates never being alone, he hates that he has to explain himself, but when the quiet creeps in, Justin is already right there to fill it.

That night, Justin drops by to pick up something he left the night before, and just doesn’t leave. He goes to get bottles of water, and Brian smokes whilst he watches that bubble butt walk away.

“What’s this?” Justin calls, and Brian makes a noncommittal noise. When he returns to the bed, he tosses a bottle to Brian, and then presents the slightly crumpled picture for his viewing.

It’s Tye’s of course, and Brian had promised to stick it on the fridge. He usually did, because he didn’t lie, and there is something about the way that Tye looks at you and smiles that makes him feel guilty. He hates that feeling. He would take it down the day after, and slip it into his filing system under ‘T’. He must have forgotten, and he feels a flare of frustration that he did.

Brian takes a drag of his cigarette, and gives a one-armed shrug. “It’s from my sister.”

In the top of the page, Erica had written words for Tye to mimic, however terribly. She is getting better though. Justin reads the words out loud to him: “’To Brian, Love Taillte.’”

“She prefers Tye,” Brian informs, and then opens the bottle to drink so he doesn’t say anymore.

Justin is smiling at him, something wide and goofy and Brian knows his thinking more into this than he should be, and it’s infuriating. “What?” he snaps.

Justin shakes his head, climbs onto the bed and drops down heavily beside him. Brian locks his jaw so that he doesn’t tell him  _ to be careful _ and give away too much. To his credit, Justin handles the page with nothing but gentleness.

“Molly used to draw me stuff like this,” he says, his smile fond, “Said she wanted to be artist just like me.”

“Yeah?”

Justin hums. “She was, well, atrocious quite frankly,” he grins impishly and Brian huffs a laugh.

“And what does the great artiste think?” he questions.

“Hmm, good concept of colour. Good lines. Good blending,” Justin muses, “She could be one of the greats.”

Brian doesn’t mean to feel pride, but he does. He sniffs, rubs his nose and states, “Well of course. She’s a  _ Kinney _ .”

-

Brian tells her that Justin loves the last thing she drew. He doesn’t explain who Justin is, no more detail than he’s a friend, but he says that he’s an artist, and her eyes grow.

“Like a real artist?” she wonders.

Brian hums, and assures her that yes really he loved it.

Tye glances to her paper and pens, all neatly stacked on the kitchen table from when she’d moved on to a different game. “Do you think Jus’in will like one for himselfs?”

She works on it for the night, and it’s Brian who carefully pens in block letters the message for Tye to copy. She sits in his lap when he does it, and opens her mouth when she concentrates. He kisses the crown of her head and whispers that it’s perfect.

-

“You told her about me?” Justin says, his voice light and he holds the drawing that Brian put before him like it’s precious.

Brian doesn’t look at Justin, when he shrugs. “You said she was good. I had to tell her.” He didn’t, they both knew that.

“Tell her thank you, and I’ll take good care of it,” Justin says, and places it carefully between the pages of his sketchbook. He treats them as if they are his children, so Brian knows his sister’s hard work will be safe there.

When Justin kisses him, a slow slide of lips so sweet that it makes Brian’s toes curl, he knows what the boy thinks, but he doesn’t correct him. Let him think what he thinks, Brian tells himself, you know what it means. (Everything, it means everything).

 

* * *

_ Five years, ten months. _

Brian watches it happen, and then continues to see it whenever he closes his eyes. That moment of happiness dashed with one swing of a bat. Fuck. His hands are shaking, and he can’t see anything past red. It doesn’t wash off easily – he rubs and scrubs at his hands and the blood fades but doesn’t go. He can still see it.

When he rubs the tear tracks from his face, Brian can smell it. He gags, chokes, scrambles to not vomit all over the hospital’s sterilised floor and fails. Michael is at his side, rubbing his back and telling him everything is going to be okay but how can it be?

The red eventually leaves him, but Justin doesn’t wake up.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Erica asks, demands to know. Her hands are flitting nervously over his shoulders, around his face. He doesn’t mean to cry when he sees Justin, but it’s hard not to. (By the fourth night he visits, he’s numb and feels nothing but the tightness of his throat).

“Is Jack here?” he asks, and when Erica shakes her head, Brian presses his back to the wall and sinks to the floor.

He tells her everything.

He doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t know when he came to trust her, to care about her. Brian guesses this is a new thing for him, because he doesn’t know the moment he started loving Justin either. He thinks it might have been that first day when he was so brave against the abuse of his classmates, or maybe that time at Babylon when Justin danced and made Brian’s gut drop with jealousy, or the moment that Justin chose him over his own family. Maybe it was that tenth night that Justin didn’t go back to Debbie’s, or when Brian found a pair of Justin’s underwear under his bed, and simply put it in the with the rest of his.

He tells Erica this too, the first time he ever verbalised it, and she listens.

When all is done, his throat hurts and his mouth is dry. He puts his head between his legs and waits.

Erica puts her hand on the back of his neck, a gentle touch, and it grounds him.

“You care about him,” she states. He doesn’t answer.

She tries again, “You  _ love _ him,” and Brian inhales shakily. Her fingers flex their grip. “Oh Brian…”

He doesn’t want her pity, straightens his neck so that she has to let go of him. He won’t meet her gaze, but across the landing Tye stands, peering out from behind a door. She watches him and he watches back.

Brian pretends that he never spoke about Justin, even if his cheeks are still swollen and damp, even if his confession has absorbed into the air and floats around them. Jack doesn’t come back that night, so Brian stays later and Tye sits with him the entire time.

It’s strange how tiny arms can be the most comforting.

 

* * *

 

_ Six years, one month. _

Justin wakes up and doesn’t remember. Any idea that Brian might try to jog his memory is taken away with the word of a mother, and then returned with another. He understands, he does, but that doesn’t mean he’s affected any less.

He knows that everyone can see, but he will continue with the illusion that they are just as blind to him as he wants them to be.

__

* * *

 

 

_ Six years, ten months. _

Justin wants, and Brian refuses to give. Brian pushes and Justin leaves.

He comes back, and this time it feels different, real, equal. Justin is pushing back, standing his ground, has fire in his eyes when he fights his battles rather than the soft smiles. It’s better, Brian thinks, so much better.

About the only fucking thing he’d thank the fiddler for.

Brian still doesn’t say The Words, but they find a middle ground. Brian introduces Justin as his partner, his non-conventional boyfriend, the one he fucks more than once. Erica’s words come back to him. Debbie’s words come back to him. Maybe he does love Justin,  _ maybe _ , but words can be fakes, promises can be broken.

What he feels is more than that.

Brian fucks Justin into his bed and the ache he feels in his thighs, the bruises on his lips and the bites on his collarbone are symbols that cannot be false.

-

“You’re not sad anymore,” Tye tells him, and it’s a jolt that reminds him just how old she is – just how old  _ he _ is, fuck. She’s her own little person now, aware of the world and fighting with her mama about wanting French braids and teal hair clips. (It’s her new favourite colour, since Brian tested out boards for a new toy brand on her).

He can’t deny it, not with her, she’s too young to understand deflection quite yet. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?” she questions.

“Someone came back into my life recently,” he answers lowly. “And it’s been…good.”

“Is it Justin?” Tye asks, and Brian’s eyebrow rises in surprise. She smiles bashfully.

“You eavesdropping now, huh?”

“No,” Tye insists, “You just talk loudly.”

It makes him laugh, and tickling is her punishment. She squeals, squirms and tries to get away with him, but she’s grinning up at him, goes pink in the cheeks from exertion.

She gives him another picture to give to Justin, put inside an envelope and with orders that he not look at until Justin does. He relies this information with a bemused smile, and would never admit that he lingers behind Justin just to get a glimpse.

“It says ‘thank you’,” Justin reads, and then turns to tilt his head in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Brian kisses Justin so that he doesn’t have to answer, or face the way his stomach twists with emotion he doesn’t want to recognise. Justin doesn’t ask him again, although Brian knows he must be curious, but he does pin the picture to the fridge.

It stays there for nearly three weeks, because Brian doesn’t have the heart to take it down.

 

* * *

__

_ Seven years, one month. _

Erica dies on a Tuesday.

The nursery calls Brian when Erica is late for pick up, and glancing at the clock and seeing 5:34 feels him with dread. Erica always picks Tye up at 4, always without fail.  _ Always _ .

On the way, traffic is diverted into one road. Car accident. He doesn’t even know that he should care about it, until he has Tye in his arms and Jack calls him for a lift. He’s been drinking and he would never dare scratch his car.

At the hospital, they found out that she was pronounced dead on arrival. A head on collision. She had to be cut out of the vehicle. The driver in the other car has a concussion, a broken nose, and a damaged spinal cord. Brian didn’t need the details, because his mind goes to the police tape and flashing lights and him cursing the slow moving traffic. He hadn’t even thought to look, to check if -

He doesn’t know what to tell Tye. Jack is off dealing with the doctors and the nurses and the police, and that leaves Brian with the child in his arm. She’s seven, he thinks, seven and her mother’s dead.

She knows what’s going on. She clings to him tighter within the walls of white, and asks him quietly, “Is Mama okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Her chest heaves when she cries, and the collar of his shirt is damp but she’s not loud. He holds her, rubs her back and doesn’t stop apologising.

-

Justin calls when it’s pushing seven. He’d said he would make dinner that night, Brian belatedly remembers, and he is late. Justin sounds irritated, like he knows _ exactly  _ what has his partner so delayed, and Brian is too exhausted to be bitter about it.

“I’m at the hospital,” he states, and he knows the moment that Justin clicks into worry mode. Brian doesn’t let him speak, just swears, “I’m fine.”

“Then who?”

He looks down and Tye has cried herself to sleep against him. He’s grateful for that because he doesn’t want her to see her suffering any more. “Erica,” he whispers, “there was a car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Justin replies, “Do you need me?”

_ Yes _ , but he says, “No. I’m – I’m going to stay with Tye. See what is needed. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Keep me updated,” Justin makes him promise and for a long while afterwards, Brian listens to the dialling tone. He can’t have Justin with him – his father knows nothing, less than nothing, and Brian would keep it that way, would keep Justin away from the toxicity forever if he had his way – but he can close his eyes and imagine that he is.

-

They don’t leave the hospital until close to midnight. Brian drops both Jack and Tye at the house, and stares at the dark windows knowing that Erica would not be waiting beyond them. Without her, the previous warmth is gone, tainted by death and swallowed by cold and darkness. Jack is quiet- sobering up, Brian thinks- and picks up the sleeping Tye from the car seat without prompting. Brian watches him cautiously. He doesn’t trust, without Erica he  _ can’t _ .

Tye looks so young slung over their father’s shoulder. Too young to be motherless, too young to be left with  _ him _ . Brian had been that young, and it hadn’t protected him. It wouldn’t protect her either.

-

He pays for the funeral, and pays for Erica’s family to be flown out. Her brother has never met his niece, like she hasn’t met her cousins. She doesn’t speak to them – hell, she’s not speaking at all. Tye holds onto Brian’s hands for the whole ceremony, and he’s the one who lifts her to place the white lily onto the casket.

When she does speak, it’s only to ask him, “how can mama breathe in there?” and Brian’s heart breaks. He can’t do this, but looking at Jack he knows he’s the only one. The man stands like he’s supposed to, says words like he’s supposed to, goes through the motions of the grieving widow, but he hasn’t looked at his daughter, hasn’t looked at the casket. At the wake he takes his drink and sits in his chair and it’s like nothing has changed.

He doesn’t want to leave Tye that night, but he has to. He has to. He puts her to bed though, tucks her in and holds her hand until sleep makes the grip loosen. He reminds Jack that Taillte has school tomorrow and that she has to be there for eight. He doesn’t know if Jack actually listened, but he hopes. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll step up when it matters.

-

He fucks Justin hard enough that all he can think about pleasure, and his orgasm is just too much. He cries, shoulders shaking, eyes burning, and Justin holds him. Brian doesn’t want to admit that he needs this, but he listens to Justin promises that it’s okay to cry, that things will get better, and wishes for it to be true.

 

* * *

 

_ Seven years, two months. _

Brian watches the rise and fall of his father’s chest. He nudges his foot and then shoves it. Jack stops breathing, snorts, and doesn’t wake up. Brian breaths in deeply and it feeds his rage. He’s shaking with it, wants to scream and shout, wants the bastard to wake up and hear him.

A floorboard creaks, and he remembers  _ Tye _ . It’s not just about him, there’s her too. He exhales to the count of four. He rolls his hands into a fist and releases all he can through his fingertips. He leaves the bedroom, shuts the door to lock the man in his own shame.

Tye watches him from the hallway. “Is Daddy still asleep?”

“Yeah, yeah he is,” Brian answers, and clears his throat when he hears the harsh roughness there. He’s gentle when he asks, “How long has he been asleep?”

Tye shrugs with one arm. “From when the big hand was on the three. I think.”

Three. Fuck. That’s six hours. He counts to four again, and breathes through his teeth. “You’ve been here the whole time.”

It’s not a question, but Tye answers anyways, “I can look after myself.”

It’s indignant and oh, Brian recognises that. Her eyebrows furrowed, her face set with determination, he sees himself. He had been just as small, just as young, just as alone and terrified. He had Claire, who sat quiet at his side until it was over, and walked away as if those moments of solidarity were nothing (in their world, he supposes they weren’t). He had Joan, for how little good that did him – unlike the bruises from fists, the scars from words don’t heal so easily. 

But then he left, and found Mikey and Debbie; Lindsey, Emmett, Ted, Gus,  _ Justin _ . Hell even fucking Mel, and he would rather choke than admit that to her.

He dragged himself through that hell and saved himself.

Tye had Erica and now she has no one.

No, he corrects, she has him.

He’s not much, but he’s enough. She lets him pick her up, wraps her tiny arms around him and doesn’t question him. Her hair tickles his nose and he mutters into it that  _ things are okay, I’ve got you, we’re going somewhere safe, no one’s going to hurt you _ .

He feels her hold tighten on him, and his heart is pounding in his chest because she trusts him enough to believe that’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr for more quality trash](http://gladers.co.vu) <3


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